Page 74 of His Other Half

He gritted his teeth. Shaw wasted his time. If he wanted to have a meeting, he shouldn't have sent his henchmen to do the job.

Shaw wasn't dealing with any motherfucker. Paco had no value on his life. He lived each day, expecting to die. Hell, he'd expected to leave this miserable life years ago.

It should be him rotting in the ground in an unmarked grave at the bottom of a mountain valley instead of his sister. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

With Shaw out of the picture, Josie would be safe. That's all he lived for.

If him dying saved Josie, he'd help the asshole pull the trigger.

Paco ignored the pistol jammed against his back and turned toward the man. Recognizing him as one of the guards he passed entering the Casino, he stared into the face of someone who answered to Shaw.

"You can tell Shaw if he wants to talk to me, I'm right here," said Paco.

"You'll go with—"

"I ain't going anywhere with you." Paco backed up a step. "He knows where to find me."

Turning, he walked away from the casino. The asshole wasn't going to shoot him in the front of the building with other people around. The crime would be too hard to hide.

Without looking back, he forced himself to walk to the truck. Only when he'd reached the vehicle had he got a glimpse of the front of the building to see the guard gone from the spot by the door.

Revving the engine, he pulled forward and headed away from the casino. He drove around three cars and shifted. He needed to get the hell off the reservation, and then he needed to get back to Josie and make sure the guard was throwing bullshit his way about having her.

He had her protected. Whip was taking his turn watching the apartment tonight, keeping an eye on Josie and Cami.

There was no way Shaw or his men could get to her.

Unless they took out Whip. And then, Josie wouldn't stand a chance.

He punched the steering wheel in his frustration and inability to be there for her. The pain of failing his sister had him second guessing Shaw and how to deal with the situation. He stomped on the accelerator, unable to drive fast enough to get back to Missoula.

He'd walk through fire for Josie. The crimes he'd committed, the lives he'd taken, the things he'd seen, he was at the end of his life. Josie was only beginning.

She deserved someone better than him. The freedom to find her happiness. To look forward to the sun rising, the way she spoke of when she stood at the window to catch the first glow over the mountain in the morning.

She deserved to have children and teach them the language he'd heard coming from her beautiful lips but couldn't understand.

She deserved to know when she closed her eyes each night, there was no need for a knife beside her bed.

Wheezing for breath, he slammed on the brakes, taking the last corner before he left Blackfoot land. The tires squealed, leaving a black trail on the asphalt. He looked in his rearview mirror. Smoke from the rubber, grabbing the road, followed him.

He shifted, gaining control of the truck, as a tribal police car came toward him. Braking brought him back down to the speed limit, but he was too late.

The Blackfoot officer flipped on his overhead lights, crossed the center line in the road, and came to a stop, blocking him from making it off the reservation.

He slowed, reaching behind him and removed the pistol from the small of his back. They could hold him for however long they wanted or call Montana State Police and hand him over to their custody without any reason.

His record was dirty enough without them finding a weapon on him, too. The pistol would give them an excuse to take him into possession.

He shoved the gun between the back cushion and the lower cushion on the bench seat. Glancing at his watch, he sweated. He needed to get back to Josie.

Stopping the truck, he gazed in the distance. There were two, maybe three miles, to go until he hit the border.

An officer exited the patrol car and walked toward the truck, his hand on the revolver at his side. Tension gripped Paco, and he pressed his back against the seat. Used to the Feds' attention and ordered to get on the ground more times than he could count, dealing with the tribal police was another matter.

Three yards from the truck, the cop stopped and motioned for him to get out of the vehicle. Paco showed his hands, then opened the door.

As soon as both of his feet hit the ground, an explosion deafened him, and a force took his legs out from under him.

He toppled, unable to stop his descent. The asphalt smashed into him.